


A Promise on Mona

by NickedNack



Category: Chronicles of Prydain - Lloyd Alexander
Genre: F/M, Rhun being Rhun: not involved in the sex, Smut, extra scenes from The Castle of Llyr, gradual burn that grows to a roaring flame, hot sex: but not all that graphic, still attempt at serious character portrayals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22043161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickedNack/pseuds/NickedNack
Summary: As they travel to Mona, much has been left unsaid by the Princess of Llyr and her Assistant Pigkeeper. As the little time they have left slips through their fingers, the desire that burns within them grows only stronger, until it can not be denied. On Mona, a pledge will be made between them, and sealed with their love on the shores of the Isle.
Relationships: Eilonwy/Taran of Caer Dallben
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	A Promise on Mona

**I know this small fandom is pretty eager for anymore content involving these two (somehow in five books we got so much and also so little between them!), but I’m not sure how much of a demand for smut there is. I might be writing this just for myself, but it wouldn’t be the first time.**

**This started as a short project to type out while I have writers’ block on other things, but it always happens to me that these just get bigger and bigger as I write. While it was originally meant to just be smut, I did try to make as true of a portrayal of the characters as I could; hopefully I succeeded, and the tone isn’t too uneven.**

**I’d say the characters are aged up, but I don’t actually know how old they were in this book. I used to figure they were sixteen, but since reading the series again I think more time passed between the first couple books then I thought, putting them at least eighteen or twenty. There is a moment in Llyr were Fflewddur says he figured they would marry, so they’re probably getting to that age.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_During the first chapter of The Castle of Llyr_

As the ship plowed northwest, up the coast of Prydain, it rocked and heaved erratically as the green waves tossed it. Stepping through the door of her cabin, the Princess Eilonwy breathed in the warm, salty air, and watched the path of the seagulls flying against the sun. It was really a very pleasant trip, almost enough to make her forget what awaited her at the destination.

With a jolt, the ship lurched to one side, and she caught herself against the doorway. “TIGHTEN THE MAINSAIL,” came a cry from above, and she shook her head good naturedly. The Prince Rhun was an irresistibly friendly person, but a sailor he was not. At least his steering seemed to be improving.

A gangly figure scampered across the deck, and on a shout of instruction from the captain, scampered up the mast to do as bid; not the rigging, but straight up the great pole of the mast. She smiled at the sight of Gurgi, climbing among the rope and sail as easily as he might a tree. There was always something amusing about watching him move, his ungainly body maneuvering with a speed and grace that surprised you.

It was a sight she was dearly going to miss. All the inhabitants of Caer Dallben, as true and reliable as the roofs over their heads, had become very dear to her. Gurgi’s carefree spirit, Coll’s solid strength, and Dallben, with his quiet wry wisdom.

Not to mention, a certain Assistant Pigkeeper.

She spied him on the portside rail, being instructed by a sailor in how to tie knots. _Of course_ , she smiled slightly. Taran was always eager to learn something; and would probably master a hundred trades if allowed. _He should be the one being shuffled off to a castle for a year!_

She took a moment to watch him, as he listened intently to the sailor. She marked the small movements of his strong arms, and the fine playing of his skilled fingers. Not starring, mind you. But once they reached Mona it’d be a year or more before they saw each other again. She wanted to commit these things to memory.

As the sailor moved on to other business, and Taran turned to face the sea, she found herself making her way over to him. She moved surefootedly across the bobbing deck, having become used to the tip and heave of the ship beneath her. She appeared casual, but moved with a private determination. Since beginning this voyage, they’d had very few moments to talk in anything like privacy. There was little room on the ship, many friendly faces always wanting to join in, and the work was nearly constant; though Eilonwy often had to almost ripen the sailor’s ears to convince them it was right to let her help with the simples recoiling of rope. She thought she saw a chance to speak now, and refused to miss it.

If she were honest, the Princess was found the prospect of their imminent separation more alarming than she let on; and the wasting of what little time they had left even more so. The reasonable privacy that could be found at Caer Dallben, as well as Taran’s constant presence, were two things she had come to almost take for granted; and she was going to miss them both.

She joined him at the rail, looking out over the waves. “Finding a sailor in you?” she kept her voice as casual as she could. Leaning over the rail and hanging on to one overhead rigging ropes, Taran turned to greet her with a smile. His usual, unremarkable, familiar smile. And her stomach shifted in a way that had nothing to do with the sea.

“Good morning Princess,” he greeted, and her own smile almost slipped. He’d been using her title more, ever since the plans for this voyage had been finalized. It was irritating; and she couldn’t put her finger on why, which only made it more so. “The sea does make, a wonderous view,” he continued, nodding to the endless plain of aquamarine waves stretching out before them. “But I think I would only enjoy it for a short voyage. Any longer and I’d start to miss the solid earth, and open country.”

“Perhaps you simply haven’t tried it enough,” she countered, dipping a hand over the rail to catch the top on a wave. “When I was a child, I always thought your craft was something you were born into; big blacksmiths make little blacksmiths, and so on. Now, I wonder if it isn’t more like different sets of clothes, that you could change one for another given the chance.”

She did not speak for a moment; now that she finally had his attention, she didn’t know what to say (or more accurately, how to say what her heart wanted). It was really quite maddening. Still facing the waves, she stole sidelong glances at him, thoughts on the tip of her tongue, hoping he might step in to help.

She wasn’t the only one conscious of the precious seconds ticking by. _Would that the blood of a royal house could be so easily put away as a dress,_ Taran thought, as he searched for words of his own. He was very much aware of her presence so close to him, the two of them seeming to be alone even as they stood on the open deck of the busy ship. The wind caught her loose hair, whipping it around like a golden fire. She shifted just a little closer to him; and for no reason he could rightly name, he felt his face warming.

“I might take to the water myself,” Eilonwy spoke up, as the sight of the wild surf stirred something in her blood and memory. “Though I image it will look less charming from the windows of Dinas Rhydnant.”

Taran made a safe, noncommittal sound of agreement.

“I have never doubted Dallben’s wisdom,” The words kept coming, suddenly loosed. “But I simply cannot understand why he’s so insistent I go to Mona?”

“Coll always says the first step to learning is to find the right teacher,” Taran tried to find something helpful to say. “And there are no other women in Caer Dallben.”

“True, but I hardly have to cross the seas to find one,” She shot back with an arched brow. “And what do you think I must learn that could only be taught by a woman?”

“Not being one myself, I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Taran chose his words carefully, wary of appearing foolish. There was an obvious answer of course; she must learn the duties of a noble lady, as the wife of a lord and matron of his castle and lands. But in her unusual situation, Eilonwy would only need such knowledge if she were to go off and _marry_ a noble lord; a turn of events the young Pigkeeper refused to contemplate.

There were, of course, things of . . . _adulthood_ , which she would need to know. The business of starting families, and, and procreation. Though he often felt far from manhood himself, Taran had come realize more and more recently that adulthood was fast approaching for the two of them. It was simply a fact, but one that still surprised him.

He thought back to the night, almost a year before, when Coll had sat him down to explain the facts of young men and women to him. Some of it he had already gathered, from caring for the animals of Caer Dallben. It had still been a very mortifying experience, as the older man went into some more specific detail; frank pronouncements being accompanied by just the slightest wry curve of his lip.

Taran could not imagine Coll, or any other man for that matter, having that same discussion with a girl like Eilonwy though. Still, if an education if those things was all that was needed, why couldn’t it have been provided without this journey. Surely the part of a woman in the subject of union needed no more knowledge than that of the man. He assumed.

As another conspicuous silence stretched between them, Taran felt the spring winds warming his face even more, and he found the clouds above suddenly fascinating.

In her own private fumings over her situation, Eilonwy had been coming to the same conclusions as he. With sidelong glances she took note of his sudden discomfort, and had to hide a growing smirk.

She already had some education in the things of womanhood, though it came almost entirely from books. Reading had been one of her few pleasures in the oppressive tedium of Spiral castle, and many a time she’d pilfered a book from Achren’s private library. This was a dangerous hobby; both because of the risk of the sorceress’s’ wrath, and the often _unseemly_ content of some of her books. Even the harmless looking ones. The Princess had come across more than one shockingly pervers story; but when some of Achren’s books held the tales and teachings of malignant evils that put a chill in her bones, stories of indecent and even graphic romance were actually preferred.

She would bet her education in this area was more extensive then his, though likely that wasn’t saying much.

“You will have one less hand for the orchard,” she sought to leave the argument of her departure; for they’d had a dozen times already, and she could tell cost him to make. “And _you_ may have to take up the scullery.”

“I mean to train Gurgi to it,” the mock seriousness of his tone broadening the smile on her lips. “I’m sure he will lose his dislike of ‘ _spillings and splashings_.” After that there was only the matter of his matted and debris strewed fur likely dirtying further anything he tried to clean.

Her laugh was light on the air, and it was like music to him. It made her seem all the less a princess and more a simple country girl; the same bold girl he kept close to his heart.

He glanced at her again, her body a series of graceful curves, well displayed as she leaned against the rail, and it occurred to him that a man who didn’t know her would see the young woman far more than the churlish girl. His feet were suddenly eager to step back a pace, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

Then she was suddenly a step closer, body turned to him even as she leaned against the rail; and he had to force his gaze back _up,_ toward her face. “Oh, but I had hoped to have Gurgi stay with me in Dinas Rhydnant,” she joked. “We could learn sewing and embroidery together. I honestly think he’d be as well suited for it as I!”

Her laughter was infectious. “Perhaps I could join you also, and we could mak-“

As he spoke a larger wave jostled the ship a small ways out of line, and then the deck shuddered beneath their feet, and the timbers groaned as the vessel started to turn sharply the other way. “Hard to port!” cried Prince Rhun, as he bent the tiller too far (and in fact, turned them to starboard), overcorrecting so that he veered them sharply off course. With the small shift in direction, rather than cut through the waves the ship was now taking them directly against its side, and the deck shook and tilted more violently. There was a general alarm among all hands, and the crew scrambled to right the ship, giving little notice to the two passengers at the rail. Just as well, as they had quite forgotten anyone might see.

With one hand holding fast to the rigging rope, Taran held the other arm protectively around the princess, as she propped her own arms against him to keep them from knocking heads. They were so very close now, the swell of her chest nearly brushing his own, and he swore he could feel the heat of her skin even though the windswept air and both their clothes.

“Mind yourself,” he said hoarsely, as the warmth began spreading through him.

“I’m fine,” she responded, thinking he’d been talking to her. Her eyes had met his now, and they were bright with something he didn’t recognize. The spray of the sea was reaching them now, and on one side her wet hair stuck to her skin. “I kept my footing on many a tree branch less solid than this.”

“I remember your luck with the apple trees,” he countered. “I had to catch you then too.” Their faces were little more than a hairsbreadth away now, those blue eyes livelier than the sea as they filled his vision.

“You were insufferable to speak to afterward,” her head tilted just so, as did his, and their mouths close enough for their breath to tickle. “I shouldn’t be so patient with you.” What they were doing was unthinkable; but as they were giving no spare thought it-

Then on the platform Rhun gave a great cry of “BRACE THE HATCHES!” As a particularly large wave swept over the portside and surged onto the deck. Cold seawater struck the pair, engulfing them for an instant. The two grabbed both the rigging and themselves more tightly without a thought, and so braced they emerged still on their feet. Amid a general grumble from the deck below, the helmsman politely but firmly took the tiller back from the Princes’ hands.

Taran and Eilonwy were still for a moment, waiting to be sure that no more errant waves approached the ship blundered through the surf to resume its course. Their eyes met again, silently becoming conscious of their situation for a pregnant moment before suddenly stepping apart. Their dampened cloths had stuck together, and the wet sound they made when separating was almost an accusation. The heat was gone, and Taran found himself shivering in the breeze, looking away for a beat before turning back to her. “Are you alright Eilonwy?”

The princess was stepping away from him, and with the moment broken she seemed suddenly fearful to speak. “Y-yes, I am fine. I-I must go to the cabin.” She turned her back to him, nearly tripping over a stray bucket in her haste. He reached out to steady her, keeping a grip on her arm to stop her retreat. It was bad enough they would soon be separated. He was worried now that she had been frightened by their near . . . by their conversation, and he did not want their long companionship to be end being marred by it. “Eilonwy, plea-,” he began.

She whirled around on him, one arm over her chest as if to protect herself, and eyes flashing. “Taran of Caer Dallben,” she growled quietly but with steel. “Let me GO!”

Taken aback, he complied, in despair of how he could have so offended her. But it was as he starred that he realized the truth. The simple dress she wore in the fair weather was a plain white, and none to thick. So were the bindings (he was not even sure that was the proper term) she wore beneath. And both were soaking wet! Unable to respond, he let her go, as his face reddened fiercely.

Her anger already fading to despaired mortification, and with a mumbled of “more thickheaded then your _pig_ ,” the princess turned and stormed off to her cabin. Arms crossed, and cheeks burning, she managed to stumble twice more in the short distance; and gave only the briefest response to a greeting from Rhun, as the oblivious prince descended the platform.

Taran remained standing for several moment after she slammed the door, blinking after her. Then a couple of sailors, nearby began hauling on a mainsail line, and shaken from distraction, he went to lend a hand. The Princess spent most of the day in her cabin, brushing off visitors with mumbles of seasickness. Just as well, for he single-mindedly busied himself with work until nightfall, warry of having a spare moment for his thoughts to wander. His damp clothes clung to him like wet fur, but he was actually quite grateful for the chill.

* * *

Taran lay out upon the ship’s deck the next night, struggling to arrange a pile of rope into a comfortable bed as sleep eluded him. In truth he had slept soundly under less ideal conditions; what preyed on his mind was the Princess. They were anchored in another cove, and the captain had announced that this was their last night at sea. After days of following the coast they had at last drawn parallel to the Isle of Mona. The next day they would start before dawn to strike out across the truly open seas, and reach their destination in one final lap. By midday tomorrow, Eilonwy would begin her education.

Across the deck the Prince Rhun snored away with customary obliviousness, and Taran rolled on his side to try and put the princeling and the whole isle he represented out of mind. Part of him wondered if she was also lying awake, and thinking of him. Though he knew she dreaded her arrival in Mona, he could hardly guess her more private thoughts about the voyage, having had barely a moment alone to speak since they set sail. Taran rolled over again, gazing discretely about at the other sleeping figures on the deck. He could probably reach her cabin without waking any.

He banished that thought quickly.

Some thoughts were not so easily dispelled however. Like the image of Eilonwy sleeping; sprawled across the mattress, likely only in a light shift on a night so warm. Taran turned over again, growing only more restless. He could not seem to get the princess off his mind. Memories came to him fast and thick; her laugh ringing in the air, her hair a mess of sticks and leaves from tree climbing, her face lit by the glow of a burning hearth, and her very unladylike curses as she tried to catch loose chickens.

Taran shifted again, mindful now of a growing discomfort. Conscious of the other sleepers on the open deck he rolled over to lie on his front, feeling suddenly exposed. The minutes dragged by slowly, but he felt no relief on the tightness of his trousers, and his mind could not but wander back again and again to the princess sleeping not twenty paces away.

He found himself greatly missing the small room he possessed at Caer Dallben. It was crude and humble; but save those nights that Gurgi crept in and curled up on the floor or on his mattress (Taran would never put the creature out, though he sprawled in such a way that his smaller body took up most of the bedding), it was his alone. As he’d grown older, and the urges of a man began to take him on nights and in mornings, he made much appreciative use of that privacy.

Unsatisfied, his thoughts betrayed him further; and he remembered other things about Eilonwy. Rare glimpses of her skirts hitched up over smooth legs; and rarer still encounters of her fresh from the tub, wrapped only in large wool towels with wet hair sticking to her skin. The tightness of her too small hand-me-down clothing hugging her curves, and the crystal-clear moment of her wave-sodden indecency just the day before. He thought of the last time they had embraced, some weeks ago when the arrangements for her departure were finalized. Only in his mind he pulled her closer still, felt her body pressed tight and hot against his own. He imagined the smoothness of her skin, the scent on her hair, and glorious, uninhibited friction between them.

Rhun’s snoring continued to sound across the deck, louder now it seemed, but it wasn’t enough to tear Taran away from his fixation. He imagined her hands, worn and callused from hours in the field and scullery, but somehow still so smooth and gentle to the touch. He’d felt those hands on him before, a few precious moments over the years; now he yearned to feel more. He could almost imagine her fingers, tracing across his face as they had before. Across his face and down farther, venturing down the neckline of his shirt, and up under the bottom hem. Hot fingers playing across his skin, leaving hot trails on his flesh and raising the hairs beneath. And sinking lower still, to tug loose his trouser strings and-

Taran froze in his shifting, mortified in the realization that he was rubbing himself against the ropes he lay on.

With a start he leapt up, cast his eyes about to see if any others were awake, and strode between sleeping sailors as quietly as he could toward the only place on the ship where privacy could be found.

Beyond the railing of the forecastle, the deck gave way to a lower platform on the ship’s prow. Here lay the head, the simple seat on which passengers were meant to relieve themselves while at sea. There were not even proper walls, and one had to be careful lowering one’s self down to the narrow platform; but netting was strung out from the bowsprit to the catheads to catch a falling sailor, and a sheet of canvas was stretched tight at a slant from the forecastle down to the prow, to give a man some privacy.

Taran had to duck his head even while sitting to fit; but was finally able to undo the drawstring of his tight trousers and pull them down. His desire flared tall and hard, and he wasted no time getting down to his business. He stroked one hand up and down his length, sighing with relief as he welcomed the very familiar sensation of pleasure. The tension eased out of his set shoulders, even as the ache in his middle increased.

The deck still rocked ever slightly, and the smell of the head was easily detected if one put any thought to it, so Taran worked himself more quickly then he might have otherwise, rushing to finish as he thought of his bed at Caer Dallben, and how warm and peaceful it would be on a spring night like this.

His bed, and the Princess Eilonwy.

He wasn’t sure when she had become the main object of his self-pleasuring fantasies, or when it happened that just a few thoughts of her could be enough to _put_ him in such a desperately needful condition. But as imperceptibly and unstoppably as their mutual growth from children to adults, it had happened. He was quite certain if she ever became privy to his thoughts in these moments, her rage would be terrible; but that did nothing to stop them. And while his other thoughts muddied as he rushed on toward release, the image of her only became clearer.

He had to bite his lip to keep from calling her name, fearful someone on deck might hear. He imagined her lips pressing hot against his neck, trailing down his chest as she stimulated him from one end to the other. His blood thundered in his ears, his arm pumping like a water wheel as his breath became shallow. And he imagined that sweet mouth would move lower, far down his chest toward his arousal. It would be an unthinkable action for a royal princess, but her lips wrapped around his-

And there was a sudden rapping at the canvas sheet. “Hullo,” came a maddeningly familiar voice from above. “I don’t mean to rush you, but will it be much longer? Rather urgent you know.”

Taran bit down cruelly into his lip, this time having to stop himself from crying out in rage and frustration. Forcing his hand to still lest he be suspected, the friction of his tight grip begging for the release that had been so close, he managed a polite reply through gritted teeth. “It may be some moments!”

“You’re not feeling sick in there, are you?” came the relentlessly cheerful reply. “Because if you need to be sick, you’re better off just going over the sides then down the head. You don’t want to put your nose to something so foul, for one thing; and you if you miss the next man won’t want to sit-“

Taran slammed one fist painfully against the side of the forecastle. “A MOMENT,” he almost roared. Even the prince’s aggravating commentary had not made any dent in his hardness, but having lost any hope of privacy, he abandoned the effort. With some difficulty, he tucked his member under the hem of his pants, pressing it straight up and flat against his stomach as he fumbled to tie the strings tight again. Having done all he could to disguise his condition, he ducked under the canvas and out onto the prow, where he was greeted with the prince’s face beaming down from above him. Knuckles clenched white, making no response to Rhun’s cheerful “good evening,” he grabbed the rail and hoisted himself back up to the deck.

“Not a moment to soon,” declared the prince as he lowered himself clumsily down to the prow. Taran did not check to make sure he made it; but trusted to the safety netting as he stormed back to his makeshift bed, face burning such a bright red he was certain it could have been used as a lantern in the night-time.

It would be several hours yet before sleep found him.

* * *

With a yawn, Eilonwy forced the brush through the small tangles in her hair. It was horsehair, just like the brushes she used at Caer Dallben; but somehow softer, and it threaded through her curls easier. One could almost get used to the life of a castle’s lady, if it didn’t insist on being so incurably boring!

She quickly donned a simple but fine dress of light green, and buttoned up a vest over it. They were soft to the touch, but the vest was tighter across the chest than she was used to. _I’ll have to find a way to get rid of this one._ She was supposed to be dressed by a lady-in-waiting, a girl her own age appointed by Queen Teleria, but had risen early to avoid it. There was something intrusive about someone helping you dress, and she saw no reason to make someone get up a little earlier just to do something she could do herself.

Bracing herself for a morning of vaguely disapproving strangers, Eilonwy strode out the door with head high, only to come up short at a pair of long legs barring her path.

“Taran of Caer Dallben!”

He leapt up like a frightened squirrel, eyes blinking as his hand clutched for the hilt of his sword; as if expecting to be set upon by foes at any moment.

“Taran of Caer Dallben!” she repeated. “I nearly tripped over you! Whatever in the world are you doing?!”

The sight of Taran first thing in the morning was nothing strange to her, but somehow the circumstances made it so. After his abominable behavior the night before, she supposed she should have been loathed to see him. But while the surprising hurt of his words had been real, it was quickly ebbing away. Instead she found herself coming back to the broadness of his shoulders, and that brown hair so distractingly unkept, lit up by the rays of sunrise from a window above. What on earth could he be doing waiting alone outside her chamber so early. Besides the oddness of it, it wasn’t exactly decent to be lurking near a young woman with just the two of them unchaperoned!

Unless . . . privacy was his aim. This did sound like a situation often found in those old books, in which the young lads and lasses would meet under the most unusual circumstances so they might be free in . . . exchanging affection. One of the girls of court had mentioned something like this the night before, talking to the others in hushed tones about an unkept guard tower, and trading beseeching glances with one of the young men-at-arms when the older women weren’t looking.

Eilonwy felt something of a buzz starting at the back of her head, and a warmth in her middle that was rapidly spreading. It would only be a few days before he left again, and they had barely spoken in the last day. She did not expect the queen or the ladies of court to give her a moment to herself, let alone one to share with a young man. If he’d proposed, Eilonwy would never have agreed to such a thing . . . but now she found any thoughts of propriety being crowded out by how far apart they would soon be, and how close they were _now_. But Taran, he couldn’t mean, he simply _couldn’t_ be here for . . .

“I am sorry princess,” Taran said hastily, and she realized that for a moment she had been simply staring at him. And he at her. “I . . . found the bed a bit too soft to sleep on, and my chamber drafty from the window, so I-I fell asleep out here in the hallway.”

Eilonwy was quiet for a moment, and could feel a less pleasant warmth spreading across her face. Hopefully, with the sunbeam coming down on him from almost behind her, Taran couldn’t see the redness there. He often missed things far more obvious after all.

“That,” she tried to keep her tone level. “Is the silliest thing I’ve heard this morning.” What she felt was alarmingly not the normal irritation at his incomprehensible behavior, but a surprisingly powerful disappointment. “I’m beginning to think the ways of Assistant Pigkeepers are quite beyond me.” The words kept coming, as she forced herself around him and down the hall. “In any case, I am going to breakfast. After you wash your face and untangle your hair, you might have some too. It would do you some good.” She needed to be gone, or she was sure she might slap him. Or reach her hands through that blasted hair, to fix it herself!

* * *

_“But as for being betrothed . . .” She stopped suddenly and looked at Taran. “Did you seriously think for a moment I would ever . . . ? Taran of Caer Dallben,” she cried angrily, her eyes flashing, “I’m not speaking to you!”_

_“At least,” Eilonwy added quickly, “not for a little while.”_

“I would dearly hope so,” Taran chided. “As we will likely be gone tomorrow or the next day.” Reaching for her arm, he pulled her a little farther up the sand, away from the slowly rising tide.

“I have been trying not to think about it,” Eilonwy confessed. “I am not looking forward to a year locked up in Dinas Rhydnant!”

They were standing closer now, hands still resting on each other.

“Have you given any thought to what will come after that,” Taran tried to keep his tone casual.

“Well, I will return to Caer Dallben, of course,” She knew that wasn’t what he was really asking.

“That is where my future most likely lies,” Taran met her blue eyes with his green. “Working the farm and fields. And it is one I would welcome, were it not . . .” He almost didn’t dare speak his thoughts, but forced himself to the point. “As a Pig-keeper, I could not expect to-“

“To ride to war with Gwydion, Prince of Don,” the Princess knew what he was about; and even as her own knees weakened, she pressed on. “Or be a guest at the Court of Dinas Rhydnant. Nor would I, a Princess of Llyr, be expected to wield a sword or bow. You worry so much about rules you are always breaking anyway; it’s like you’re walking about with no clothes but afraid to take off a hat!”

He was silent for a moment; unsure how to proceed, and slightly driven to distraction by her talk of undressing. A small wave lapped at their shoes, and now she took his arm and lead him a little farther up the beach.

“When I return to Caer Dallben,” he began again before she could speak. “I intend to have a talk with Dallben. There are things he has never told me; about how I came to live with him. About, about my parentage.”

She nodded, eyes soft. “I know that is important to you. I’ve never put too much stock into my own family, but then I _know_ who they are.” She reached up, and combed strands of wet hair back from his face. “I’ve come to think the family you are with _now_ is more important anyway; I hope you will not put much value into circumstances from before your own birth. It would be so stupid if we couldn’t . . .” She was actually afraid to say it.

“If I can find what I am looking for,” Taran didn’t think he’d ever done something so reckless as this. “Then when you return, would you, would you take me as husband?”

There. He’d said it. No undoing i-

“YES,” he was taken aback, surprised by how quickly she answered. Her quiet reply was thick with emotion, but held no hesitation. And then with a leap her arms were around him, and his around her, and she nearly bore him down onto the sand. Their laughter played over the rolling waves as they turned in place, stopping as he let her down.

“I will consider then,” Taran forced down his laughter, but could not stop the smile beaming on his face. “That we are engaged?”

“A year is often the traditions, isn’t it?” Eilonwy put her hands on his shoulders, pushing bacvk just a little, and rubbing her fingers across his strong shoulder blades. “Since you care _so much_ for traditions; and I will not likely be back before then.”

“I will keep this as an engagement present then,” he nodded to the horn, which he had dropped in the sand. “Though I have nothing to give you!”

“Cease your worrying, and give me some peace.” She tried for a sharp tone, but happiness was plane in her words. “We can settle things _properly_ another day!”

It occurred to Taran that their retreat from the slowly pursuing waterline had put a large protrusion of the rocky shoreline between them and the rest of their group. He smiled back. “If we are to worry about being proper, we should get back to the others.” He raised an eyebrow mockingly. “Not right for us to be unchaperoned until the time.” He only leaned closer though.

“Of course,” her own face rose to meet him. “These things must be done correctly.”

Their lips met, and met perfectly as they found complete agreement for once. A feeling of buzz somewhat like drinking strong wine with no taste, and they pulled each other closer. It was minutes, or perhaps seconds, as they sealed their agreement, oblivious to all else. They tasted like the sea.

They parted, the moment almost unreal as they took in the familiar sight of each other as if it were the first time. Or the last.

He dipped down and kissed her again, a quick movement, tenderness now replaced by eagerness. When it didn’t burn either of them, they re-met, the rumble of the surf matching the storm breaking loose in their blood.

As they separated, it took a moment before either could speak. The princess, of course, spoke first; a broad grin overtaking her. “You should see your face,” She giggled (she _giggled!_ ). “Like a fish that accidently jumped out of the water to land on the shore, only to find it can somehow breath fine; everything has turned out perfectly, you just have no idea how!”

It was a most apt description, of both of them, and she raised up her toes to kiss him again. As she sank back, he grabbed her up and caught her lips once more, finally finding his voice as they parted. “It is a mystery to me,” he agreed. “But a sweet one.” Part of him still rebelled against his new freedom. “We had best not continue,” even as he rested his hands on the graceful curve of her back. “It would be foolish to go any further now.”

“Yes,” the fingers of one of her hands played across his chest. “A pair of fools we.” And they were kissing again.

It was intoxication. They moved not on thought, but on instinct; fulfilling not a desire, but a need! Her arms tightened around him, as she pulled herself closer against his tall frame. His hands found the small of her back, and helped push her up. The swelling curves of her chest pressed against his until he could feel the heat of her through their damp clothes, and he thought what torture the next year would be!

Taran was not sure how long this hunger had been growing in him; perhaps months, perhaps years. But now he had her, locked with him in sweet embrace; and rather than be satisfied, that hunger only grew stronger still. His lips pressed more firmly to her, pushing forward until she responded in kind, and they were once again competing as they always did. Then she suddenly pulled back from him, cheeks red and eyes wide with shock. _“Taran,”_ she breathed. He thought he had pressed too much, and was ready to apologize when he realized; his hands had finished their descent down the small of her back, and on their own came to rest upon the sweet curve of her cheeks beneath. Such he had dreamed of doing many a time, but could not believe he had. Appalled, he looked away, mouth gaping as he sought for words; wishing he were standing on a Fae Court, that the ground might open up and swallow hi-

And then her own hands moved down to _his_ posterior, and their lips were together again. His rigid posture melted in her arms, and all his shame and good sense were banished as he thoughtlessly squeezed her soft flesh through the thin dress. As they allowed themselves to get lost, they put down every thought but drawing each other closer, and Taran’s hands pushed against her bottom, lifting her toward him.

Finally, they parted again, panting for breath.

Taran at last became conscious of a tightness below, his manhood begging for release as it strained against one pant leg. Suddenly tense again, he discretely put just a little space between himself and the Princess; fearful he may finally have gone too far for the bold girl. _We’ll be leaving soon,_ he thought. _Better be quick here, and get back to the others before one comes looking._ His feet wouldn’t move though. And his desire refused to soften.

Eilonwy panted for breath; her cheeks burning bright red, but her eyes bold. “I may have commented from time to time on the . . . _crudeness_ of Assistant Pigkeepers,” she grinned broadly, her hands settling on his hips, seeming unaware of the full extent of his arousal. “But I must say Taran of Caer Dallben, I never dreamed to find you possessing such an _improper_ manner!”

“Far more unsuitable in a princess, I should think,” Taran found that the talking came easily, in spite of the new territory they were exploring and his own embarrassing reaction to it. “What ever will the queen of Mona say?”

“I have no intention of telling the court _this_ story,” Her hands were moving now, creeping under his loose shirt to the skin beneath. Their lips were together, without any real thought, and they seemed to drink each other in, desperate to save up as much as they could for their separation, until finally they parted again.

“It would make a _wonderful_ read,” she rested her head on his shoulder, as they both stood still. Her fingers under his shirt wove small swirls across his firm skin; and he wished her dress came in pieces that he might do the same. It was all he could do not to shift his middle forward, and grind his want against her. “I’m afraid we may be coming to the end though. Always a sweet shame to finish a good book, just like saying goodbye to a dear friend.”

Taran held her somehow closer; perhaps too much, as by her surprise and fearful glances down she finally noticed his eagerness pressing against her thigh. He had to end this now, before he spoiled it all. “One more then, it will be our last chance.” And his neck bent forward and hers back as they kissed, pressed chest to chest, as the heat between them scorched each other.

This time, when they parted, Eilonwy could only star at him; her own arms holding him in place as he weakly sought to let go. She raised on hand to brush the wet strands of hair from his face. “This is our last chance,” she agreed.

And then she was falling backward into the sand, and pulling him with her.

Taran had the presence of mind to catch himself, propping up with an arm on either side of her and staring down, as they both breathed more heavily. The Princess was nervous, her face as roiled as his stomach suddenly felt. Just moments before they had thrown open a long-bared and forbidden door and walked through. Now they’d discovered another door beyond that, and were standing at its threshold. But even as his insides rebelled, he was aware of a now very familiar tightness in his leggings; with another, painful ache that demanded relief. And her eyes Lowering to his elbow, he took her quivering lips back into his own.

Eilonwy did not think any of her past adventures against marauders and magic was as daring as the move she had just made. She dug her hands into the sand to stop them from trembling, until suddenly Taran was kissing her again, driving away doubt and uncertainty, as he always did. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she pulled him down against her fully; legs spreading ever so as they pressed hip to hip-

And her middle met something even more solid than his flat stomach or broad shoulders.

They parted again, shocked as yearlings running into a new gate. It was Taran’s turn to redden, unsure what to do with the results of actions he had just knowingly taken. “Pr-Princess . . .” he began, stumbling for an explanation.

The rational part of Eilonwy’s mind had yielded long since, and had no say now. She had given herself over to instinctive nature; and it determined the rise of her Pigkeeper’s loins to be a sign he was progressing far more boldly down this path than her. That simply would not do.

She brought his mouth back to hers and pulled him down; slowly, deliberately raising her hips up into his, and driving herself against his hardness. His breath hitched against her lips, and a shudder ran through him. She repeated the action, growing eager to feel him against her, and was rewarded with a powerful thrust of his hips in return, pushing her into the soft sand.

Their lips came apart, and they pressed on. Caught up be their newfound openness, his eyes lowered and were fixed on the swell of her breast, heaving mightily just inches from his own chest. An open question, asking if they could continue.

In recent months, the Princess had actually found herself imagining many situations like this, with her Assistant Pigkeeper, under many circumstances. Most improper for a lady; especially those that took place outside, as they were now. She had always imagined the first time being done right though, in a marriage bed after their union.

She should probably regret this, but could not find it in her to.

Cheeks blazing, she nodded, propping up on her elbows. His trembling hands found their way to the strings up the back of her dress. They slipped and fumbled, as he began to untie it. His cheeks burned as his actions admitted all his forbidden desires and vulgar fantasies to her, but his hands also pawed eagerly as he began unweaving the lacing that kept her decent. The boldness of his own actions forced him to continue. Somehow, after coming this far, it would be more mortifying _not_ to go on. If his courage deserted him now, and he left her like this, he thought he would rather walk into the sea and keep going then face her!

His fingers slid the thread through its last grommet, and he paused, unsure what to do with this opportunity now that he had it. She acted for him, in uncharacteristic silence as she worked first one arm and then the other out of its sleeve, freeing her arms and shoulders, before slowly pulling the dress down, exposing the peak of her breasts to the open air.

His hands took over, leaving a hot trail where they grazed her skin as he slid her dress down farther, bunching it at her hips. He was struck speechless, gazing upon the unthinkable nakedness of her pale flesh. Beauty was not the word Taran would use; it was appropriate, but rather too clean for how he felt. Eilonwy lay still for a moment, allowing him to admire her. Unsure what to do with her hands she folded them awkwardly against her collarbone. This was a part that men particularly enjoyed, wasn’t it? She had read so; and more than once thought she felt his gaze linger on her here. The Princess shivered as she felt the breeze on her bare, wet skin, invigorating and frightening at the same time.

Sensing her nervousness, he reached down to quiet it with another kiss. He lay almost flat against her, feeling her bare skin burn against the thin layer of his own clothes, the swell of her breasts firing his blood, as his hands stroked her bare back. As she responded to him easily, he thought it safe to go farther, and began to trail kisses down the side of her jaw, and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Her response surprised him, and with a moan she ground her middle closer to his. The friction of her body against his emboldened him; and as he sucked at the skin of her collar his hands trailed up from her back, finding their way to her front. Her own hands took his, and encouraged him the last few inches toward her bosom. With clumsy eagerness he kneaded her flesh, roughly caressing her virgin skin as they became relaxed enough to continue grinding against each other, feeding the fire driving them. His soft lips kissed her neck and shoulder; going lower, lower, and lower, until they traveled up the peak of her breasts, taking her as his while the sensation sent shudders through her. Feeling had overwhelmed all her other senses, and there was nothing but the cool, wet sand under her, and the Pigkeeper’s hot body above.

Having cleared that last barrier, Taran knew it was time to start in earnest. He thought back to Coll’s lecture. It was a subject he had been loathed to ever bring up again; until more recently, when he had occasionally tried to satisfy increasing curiosity with a few pointed questions, in the most casual way he could. The older man became somewhat more wary with his answers when Taran started asking, and made a few inquiries of his own about the reason for this new interest, which the boy had fended off as best he could. He was now desperately trying to remember all the details.

As Taran’s lips found their way back up to hers, and his middle began to push more forcefully into hers, forcing her legs to spread a little more, she realized it was time for them to take the final step; unless they wanted to be there all day. Out of all possible concerns she _should_ be having at this moment, it occurred to her how unfair it was that his shirt was still on; even if the dampness and sweat did make it cling to him. Something to address next time.

Now Taran’s hands were reaching down lower, lifting the bottom of her dress to stroke the smooth skin of her legs. His touch lit a fire in her wherever it went, and at his guiding she found herself raising one knee up toward her stomach, spreading herself farther to take him in. It suddenly occurred to her to wonder where he had been educated in this, as he was doing far better than she would have thought.

For Taran’s part, he explored the smooth muscle of her thighs eagerly, even as he tried to gauge her own response. Shy to run his hands farther than he already had, he used another kiss as cover to discretely pressed them tighter together, rubbing one thigh against her middle. It was hard to tell in their damp clothes, but he became certain he felt a warm wetness lying their. If lessons were to be believed, that meant she was ready for him.

Rising to his knees, treated with the distracting sight of the Princess stretched out mostly naked beneath him, breasts rising and falling mesmerizingly as she watched him in turn, he began to fiddle with his own pant strings.

He had the strings loosed and leggings down to knees faster than she ‘d expected, and it was a shock to be suddenly confronted with . . . with him. She’d never seen a man outside of the illustrations of books, but ink an parchment were not long, hard flesh. Taran saw something of the nervousness in her eyes, could think of nothing else to do but lower himself to kiss at her neck and collar again to comfort her. She shifted to try and keep it in sight, her cheeks reddened as she studied how he compared to the books. Surely that was . . . excessive, for the task at hand. Far more than should be needed by an Assistant Pigkeeper. A most confusing conflict of feelings overtook her; a new trepidation at what they were about to do, even as the sight fanned her flames of desire.

His hands ran up and down her thighs, spreading them farther apart as she pulled her skirt up. This was already far more of a girl than he had ever seen, and he had to force himself not to stare. His heart beat a fast rhythm in his chest. It would be a silly thing to be nervous now, this was something all men faced. How hard could it be?

Taran lowered himself, slowly, down toward her. They kept eyes on each other, and even nervous as she was she nodded that he continue. Coll had warned him the act could hurt a girl. _Slowly_ , he told himself, _do it slowly. That shouldn’t be too hard._ He rested upon her, cautiously rubbing his manhood against her wetness, which seemed to be growing. A moan escaped him, and her hands found their way to his back as she arched ever so underneath him. They were ready now. He hoped.

With one hand he positioned himself at her entrance, and with a slow push of the hips he began. He had expected it to be difficult, the first time; but not the tight, squeezing resistance he found himself pushing against. And the glorious, wet heat; it was all he could do not to through caution to the wind and thrust deep into her. “Uuuuuh,”

“Nnnnnnh,” Eilonwy bit down onto one knuckle, trying not to cry out as he entered her. It was the strangest feeling, a great painful stretching that gave way to an aching heat. He moved so slowly; part of her wished he’d stop, the other that he’d go faster, and end the torment.

Then something gave way inside her, and she cried out with a start. Taran froze, opening eyes glazed with lust to see if she had been hurt. She had, but only dug her clenched fists into the back of his jacket, before breathing out _“g-go on!”_ She would not let a little pain keep her from her desires. She never had.

Thinking it best, Taran slowly pulled back, sliding nearly out of her before slowly thrusting back in. It was torturous, the delicious friction of her squeezing him, even as he began to slide more easily, pushing farther than he had before. He repeated the motion, a third time, and a fourth, each time pressing farther. Even as he slowly sped up Eilonwy again wished he would go faster still, but now from the joyous burning that sprang up in place of the pain. “Mmmore,” she gasped out. “T-taran, faster.”

He needed no encouragement, and began to lose himself as her legs rose to wrap themselves around his middle. He thrusted deeper, and deeper until he could go no farther and she arched her back and threw back her head in pleasure as he reached her center. He had nearly his whole length in her now, and his pace quickened as he began to thrust into her like the workings of a water wheel.

Eilonwy was overtaken with his cries of pleasure in her ear, and the meaty sound of his hips slapping hers. She suspects she would feel a terrible soreness the next day, like that of having stayed far too long in a saddle. But at the moment she cared for nothing but his hardness inside of her. The heat already inside her was blazing, and her mind seemed to be drowning in a rising tide of pleasure. And then with his next powerful thrust something _leapt_ inside her, and it washed over her completely. “T-TAAAAAAARRRR,” was all she could get out; and if she had not been so out of breath, it would likely have been loud enough for someone to hear.

Taran felt it, her grip around him tremble and tighten, even as she seemed to go boneless beneath him. Instinctively, he quickened his own pace, driving into her core again and again until finally the tightness in him gave way, and he burst into her. His knees buckled as the wave of pleasure broke over him much the same, and he almost collapsed on top of her. Still hard, his hips weakly bucked against her to savor every moment of sensation, as their hot lips met.

He kept it up for a few moments more, until at last he felt himself go soft, and with one last moan from each of them he slid out from her. They lay there, panting in the sand; and for a sweet, quiet moment, all they could think of was each other. Eilonwy could still half feel him in her; the sensation inside mixing maddeningly with the cool sea breeze and Taran’s warm embrace. His hot breath tickled her ear, and strands of hair fell close enough for his scent to fill her nose. Taran held her close, her breast pressed tight against him, and he had to spit out strands of her golden hair.

Then a small wave drove far enough onto the beach that it nipped their toes, and the spell was broken. Both of them suddenly remembered where they were, and that a troupe of companions waited just some hundred yards away. That they had lost themselves so badly here and now would be shameful in the extreme to be made known; and they were both gripped with a mortified fear.

Though not, in spite of everything, with one morsel of regret.

Sluggishly, the fog of pleasure still lingering on him, Taran pushed himself upright, sitting next to her. “W-we must make haste,” his were cheeks bright red as he scanned the stretch of beach for any sign of witnesses. “Hurry P-princess!”

Propping herself up, Eilonwy bit her lip as she surveyed the sand clinging to her dress, and stuck in the tangles of her hair. “This, um, we must have an explanation . . .”

“Y-yes,” his mind raced for an answer, as he staggered unsteadily to his feet. “A, um, it was a moment of, of,” he did not notice how she starred dumbly at his, to distracted to listen. “ _You_ fainted again, and . . .” A cold breeze swept across the shore, and he realized his pants still hung below his knees.

Suddenly concerned with modesty, after their torrid loving, with a quiet yelp he bent to fix his garments, only to over balance and tumble back onto the sand. Though her cheeks burned, the Princess was still giddy with pleasure, and covered her mouth as she shook with laughter. “W-we don’t have time,” Taran protested as he sat up; though his own tone was light, and his grin broad. Her tinkling laughter was infectious; and with her dress still hanging about her stomach, her bare chest bounced wonderfully.

In a moment he corrected himself, and with some reluctance helped her re-lace first her bindings, then the strings of her dress. Leaning on each other, they staggered upright, and Taran led them toward the water.

“Dunking ourselves will be the best we can do,” he explained, having finally collected his thoughts. “We can say we spotted that bobbing farther out,” he indicted to the silver horn, now half submerged by the rising tide.

Wadding unsteadily, they sat down in the shallows, doing what they could to straighten their garments and scrub sand from hair and skin. The cool water also helped to clear their heads, sapping some of the warmth from their flesh and washing the glaze from their eyes. There was a pregnant silence as they hurriedly worked, neither wanting to admit the nervousness they felt.

“I-I feared many things when we began the journey to this island,” Taran finally admitted. “But . . . this was not an end to it I ever imagined.” He stood, and she did too, water running off them as the waves rose and fell at their legs. “I’m sor-I hop-you do not _regret_ , what we have . . .”

She sniffed with mock haughtiness. “A fine thing to be asking _now._ And don’t tell me you are suddenly thinking better, _you_ were eager enough a moment ago!” She stepped closer to him, wind whipping at her hair. “I mean to hold you to your promise upon my return, Taran of Caer Dallben, whatever _improprieties_ we may have committed here!”

He could do nothing but embrace her, realizing that this beautiful dream was not ending. “I only hope that what we have done will not make this year to come _more_ tormenting.”

“It was a somewhat foolish thing to do,” she agreed, mumbling into his shoulder. “A bit like drinking all your water before you cross a barren land.”

“I suspect Dallben would say something about the strength born of patience,” He smiled fondly, as they stepped back. “Not that I would ever tell him.” His tone was serious. “We could never let anyone know of this, even after we are properly wed!”

“You need not remind me,” she insisted. “I scarcely think I could find the words if I wanted to!”

“Well,” his grin broke broad. “Had I only known that was the way to quiet you!”

With a shove, she knocked him back into the surf.

**And then they went back and discovered what fascinating thing distracted their companions long enough for this scene to happen. Please review, and tell me how accurate you thought my description of the characters was. Even though this was “just smut,” I tried to put real effort into it. PLEASE REVIEW**

**If I get some good feedback, I might try more Taran/Eilonwy stories, adding sexual tension to scenes in the books. There were actually a few more bits of TCL that I might have thrown in, if I was more patient. Dallben expressed “certain misgivings” about sending Taran to escort her; what trouble might he have been afraid two beautiful, thirsty young people might get into? And while complaining about Rhun, Taran made a comment about how he probably couldn’t use his fine princely sword half as well as Taran could his own; what do you suppose that might have been about? _Ha ha_**


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